


Demons Don’t Exist

by fractalgeometry



Series: The Existence (or lack thereof) Of Demons And Angels [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Established Relationship, Genderqueer Crowley (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, POV Outsider, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic relationship, Rescue, Summoning Circles, could be romantic or qpr because that's how I write, it's not very obvious but definitely true in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: If you don't get close to anyone, you can hide your magical immortal status indefinitely. But if there's this boy - curious, friendly, kind - and you practically help raise him, and he knows you better than anyone except each other? Well, it might get hard to keep pretending to be human. And if that kid's friend finds a book on demon summoning, it gets even harder pretty quick.Life is complicated when you let people in.In this case, Crowley and Aziraphale think it's worth it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Original Character, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Existence (or lack thereof) Of Demons And Angels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774987
Comments: 34
Kudos: 250





	Demons Don’t Exist

**Author's Note:**

> This was a small idea I had that ended up as a larger fic than I initially expected. I absolutely love it, and I'm very excited to share.

Maximilian was eight years old when Mr. Crowley and Mr. Aziraphale moved to town. He didn’t know they were there at first, of course. His town was infinitely smaller than London, but it was no flyspeck either, and news took a while to get around. 

In fact, Max first met the newcomers through his friend Jack, who insisted that the best thing to do with strangers was to spy on them. Jack, who lived just around the bend from the formerly-empty-now-occupied-by-strangers house, had dragged Max into this scheme several times before, with results varying from total boredom (the target never even opened their door) to total disaster (the target swept old pine needles off their porch and directly onto the boys’ heads, resulting in discovery), yet neither of them were tired of it yet. 

Their target this time looked to actually be an interesting one. Shortly after they concealed themselves in the bushes next to the fence, a man came out of the house with a pair of clippers and snapped them, almost aggressively, in the direction of one of the overgrown plants near the garden path. He was tall and thin, with almost wild red hair — actually red, none of that orange or brown “red” hair — and sunglasses. 

The boys exchanged excited glances. This was more action than they typically saw.

The man got down to business, trimming the plant back to a more manageable size as the pile of branches and twigs accumulated next to him. Every so often they could hear him say something, but the words never quite carried far enough to be intelligible. Once he looked up from his work and glanced almost exactly in their direction, causing them to tumble back into the bushes, but he turned back around without seeing the crouching children. 

Then, without warning, he vanished. One minute he was cutting branches, the next Max glanced away, and the next the path was empty.

“Did he go inside?” Max whispered.

“S’pose so,” Jack whispered back. “He must be awfully quick, though.”

“Maybe he’ll come back,” Max said hopefully. This spying endeavor had been so much more interesting than normal.

Before Jack could reply, they were both pulled firmly from the bushes, tumbling back onto the sidewalk. Jack shrieked. Max was too startled to do anything. 

“Hush!” someone snapped. 

Jack hushed. Max found that his vocal cords wouldn’t work even if he wanted them to. Looking up, he saw that the man had, in fact, not gone inside, but was instead standing over them on the pavement. Up close he looked even taller, and definitely displeased. 

“What,” the man demanded, “are you doing here?”

Max glanced at Jack, who looked utterly unable to say anything coherent. “Just...playing,” Max managed.

“Right next to my fence?”

Max nodded.

The man studied them, almost like he was trying to look directly into their heads. After a moment he seemed to relax a fraction, and some of the threatening demeanor dropped away. Max dared to scoot a few inches farther down the sidewalk. 

“You live around here?”

Max nodded again.

“Go on home, then,” the man said after another moment. The way he said it sounded almost as though he hadn’t initially planned on letting them go home. “Stay a little farther from strangers’ yards next time, huh?”

Then he turned and wandered back towards the house. A moment later, they heard the door open and shut. 

“That,” Max said, “was weird.”

“How did he get behind us?” Jack asked.

“I dunno.” Max was very ready to go home to his familiar parents and familiar sister and familiar homework. “Let’s go.”

Jack didn’t need any coaxing.

~

The next time Max encountered the inhabitants of the green house near the edge of town, it wasn’t entirely an accident. Jack had absolutely refused to return after the first time, so Max went alone. He walked casually up the street, slowing as he reached his goal. The red-haired man was outside again, doing something with his back turned to the road. Curious, Max forgot to be casual and wandered closer, until he was almost leaning against the fence. The man turned, almost like he sensed Max’s eyes on him, and raised an eyebrow above his sunglasses. Max took a few steps back, but the man raised a hand in greeting and came towards him. 

“What’re you up to today, kid?” he asked. He sounded gruff but not entirely unkind. Max took heart.

“Just wandering,” he said, almost honestly. Then, because he hadn’t been chased off yet, “What are you doing?”

The man considered him for a moment. “Want to see?” he asked finally.

Max hesitated. It didn’t seem polite to say yes. But...the man had _offered_. “Okay.”

“What’s your name?” the man asked, as Max skirted around the fence to enter through the gate.

“Maximilian. What’s yours?”

“Crowley. Uh, Mr. Crowley. Ever planted bulbs before?”

Max shook his head.

“Now, look here.” Mr. Crowley pointed to what looked like a pile of onions. “These bulbs need to end up in the ground alongside the path. We need a hole ten centimeters deep for each one. D’you like digging holes?”

“Sometimes,” Max said honestly.

Mr. Crowley handed him a trowel. “Now’s your time to shine, kid.”

It wasn’t at all how Max had expected to spend the afternoon. And yet, there was something wonderful about digging holes and knowing they were going to be useful. Mr. Crowley didn’t seem interested in talking much, but his gruff instructions and even gruffer praise somehow felt better than anything Max had gotten in school. 

“Space them out more, kid, don’t want the sprouts growing all over each other.”

“Little deeper on that one, can’t have the squirrels eating it.”

“That’s a good one, there. Now just keep doing it like that.”

Max fell into a rhythm, barely noticing the passage of time or thirst until the sound of the door opening jarred his concentration. He looked up to see another man coming out onto the porch. He was shorter and rounder than Mr. Crowley, and his hair was blonde. He wore a cream suit, in stark contrast to Mr. Crowley’s all-black outfit. It seemed almost like they were trying to look as different as possible. 

“Crowley, who is this?” The newcomer asked, almost chasteningly.

“Hm? Oh, that’s Maximilian. He’s helping me plant the bulbs.” Mr. Crowley looked over at Max. “Maximilian, that’s Mr. Aziraphale.”

Mr. Aziraphale looked amused, though Max couldn’t figure out what about. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Max said, because he had been brought up to have manners. 

“And I am pleased to meet you,” Mr. Aziraphale returned. He turned to Mr. Crowley. “Really, dear, couldn’t you have told me you had a guest? I have so been wanting to meet some people in this lovely town.”

 _Dear?_ Max wondered, but Mr. Aziraphale was continuing.

“Do come inside, Maximilian, and have some tea. Or- or juice, or- milk?”

“We have juice now?” Mr. Crowley was standing up and brushing off his hands. His black pants were amazingly dust-free, while Max looked as though he had been climbing inside the holes, rather than just digging them.

“I’m sure we must,” Mr. Aziraphale said.

“Well, if you’re sure, angel, then it’ll be sitting there in the cupboard.” Mr. Crowley’s voice had a hint of sarcasm, but he seemed serious enough. “Come on in, Maximilian. Aziraphale’s invited you, so you’ve got to come now.”

“Only if you want to, dear,” Mr. Aziraphale insisted. “I understand perfectly about strangers, and- and suchlike."

Mr. Crowley made a sound that made it clear he was rolling his eyes, despite them being hidden behind his glasses.

“Juice sounds nice,” Max said decisively, and followed the odd pair into their house.

~

It was the first time Max went into that house, but it was nowhere near the last. He rapidly struck up a friendship with the two strange, interesting men, and went as often to their house after school as to the houses of any of his age-mates. Others came along sometimes, but no one was as enraptured by the little green house and its fascinating occupants as Max. They were liked reasonably well in town, as people got to know them, and that was that. 

It wasn’t long before Mr. Aziraphale and Mr. Crowley became just Aziraphale and Crowley, and Maximilian was shortened to Max (though Crowley never dropped “kid”). Aziraphale confided one day that he had never really cared for honorifics, but it seemed to make some people more comfortable. He and Crowley lived alone, and Max never heard anything about wives or children. He hardly heard about their families, or even their past. Sometimes one would mention a little anecdote, and they’d both get a fond, faraway look for a moment. There were normal ones, like talking about going to a park, or a restaurant, but there were also less understandable stories, like the time when Max was ten that Aziraphale made an offhand comment about a specific fashion piece from the 1700s that he missed. The strangest time was when Crowley got tipsy and started going on about the horrors of the Black Death. Aziraphale had said, “Really, dear, and it’s such a nice day!” and cleared his throat in Crowley’s direction to cut him off.

So Max loved his odd mentors, and thanked whatever god might be out there that his parents never had a problem with how much time he spent with them. They were strange sometimes, sure, but who wasn’t? 

~

“Hey Max, look at this!” Lucas came running up as Max was walking out of the schoolyard. Spring break started the next day, and Max had no desire to stay on the grounds any longer than he had to. At fourteen he was more patient with sitting in a chair all day than he had been at eight, but it still chafed. Breaks were coveted.

Max stopped. “What’s up?”

Lucas held up a dark-covered book. “I was at my aunt’s house last week and I found this!”

“What’s it about?” Max stopped. Spring break or no, he wasn’t one to pass up a new book. Aziraphale had taught him about the proper appreciation of knowledge, and Max had been an excellent student.

Lucas beckoned him over and braced the book on the fence. “Demon-summoning,” he said, with more than a hint of teenage boy glee.

“Whaaat?” Max wrinkled his eyebrows at his friend. 

“It’s got tons of information on it,” Lucas said excitedly. “Symbols and words and everything!”

“Open it!”

Lucas obligingly flipped to a random point in the book. He was right. Even just the bits Max could see looked exact and careful. He felt a shiver go down his back. “What do you want to do with it?”

“Try it, of course!” Seeing the look on Max’s face, Lucas went on. “Oh come on, nothing is going to happen. Demons don’t even exist, and there’s no way my aunt randomly had a book that would actually help summon one.”

“What if it does work, though?”

“We get to have the _craziest_ story to tell! It’s perfectly safe if you do the symbols right.”

“Nothing about demons is perfectly safe, Lucas.”

“So we’re back to _nothing will actually happen!_ Come on, Max. It’s just something to do besides play more video games or whatever it is you do in your free time.”

Max felt his resolve crumbling. He was too old to believe in demons, anyway. And there was something appealing about spending an afternoon following an ancient ritual rather than doing his normal day-to-day things. “Can I take the book home? Just for tonight, so I can figure out what we’d need to do.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Well…” Max hesitated. “Why not?”

Lucas grinned at him. “That’s the spirit of adventure!” He passed the book to Max. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

Max nodded. “See you.”

As soon as Lucas was out of sight, Max turned and went down the wrong street to get home. His mum might wonder where he had gone at first, but if she was really worried he knew where she’d check. And he was going there anyway.

There was one person who might be able to help parse through this new book, and Max intended to get his opinion.

~

Max didn’t bring up the topic of demon-summoning until he’d been settled on Crowley and Aziraphale’s couch for a good fifteen minutes. Crowley was lounging in the armchair nearby, and Aziraphale was sitting at his desk, quietly sifting through papers. It was nice. Max almost didn’t want to start a conversation and ruin the moment. Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of him.

“So,” he said, casually. “What do you think of demon-summoning?”

Now, Crowley and Aziraphale had always struck Max as open-minded. They knew lots about lots of things, and were typically willing to discuss all sorts of topics that most adults would rather not think about, in Max’s experience. Demon-summoning was exactly the kind of thing that they would engage him on at length, discussing different legends of it throughout history, and so on until Max either got tired of it or had to go home.

So he was surprised when Crowley snapped, “ _What?!”_ and surged upright until he was sitting on the edge of his chair, looking at Max more intently than ever before. 

At the same time Aziraphale exclaimed, “Max, what are you talking about?” and swiveled so that he too was staring at Max.

“Um,” Max said, thoroughly bewildered. “One of my friends at school found a book, about demon summoning. And, well, he asked if I wanted to try it, and-“

“And what did you say?” Crowley asked, sounding more dangerous than Max thought he had ever heard.

“Uh. I said I’d think about it,” Max fibbed. “Why- what do you think?”

Aziraphale had closed his eyes, and now he opened them again. He stood up and very deliberately crossed the room to put a firm hand on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Demon summoning is dangerous,” he said, almost calmly. “And I- we- do not condone it. Ever.”

“Don’t summon demons,” Crowley said flatly.

“But- demons exist?” Max said, a little disbelieving.

“Don’t try to summon demons,” Aziraphale repeated, not quite answering the question.

“Do you know where the book is?” Crowley asked, urgently.

“It’s in my bag,” Max said. “I was going to ask you about it.”

Aziraphale moved swiftly to the bag and withdrew the book Lucas had given him. “This one?”

Max nodded.

“I’m going to take it for now,” Aziraphale said, still grimmer than Max could remember seeing him. 

“But it’s not mine!”

“It shouldn’t be anyone’s,” Crowley said, still flat. “Demon summoning is not something to mess around with. It shouldn’t exist at all.”

“ _Do_ demons exist?” Max pressed. He didn’t like this stern, strict version of his friends. 

“It’s not something to risk,” Crowley said. Aziraphale had left the room.

Max sat on the couch, trying to figure out whether he was more scared or more angry. He had never seen either of them act like this. They were always supportive and free with knowledge, which was why he had thought to ask about Lucas’s new scheme. This, though. This was what he’d expect from some of his schoolteachers, or a pastor, or someone like that. Not Crowley. Not Aziraphale.

“I need to return that to Lucas,” he said finally. “I can’t just lose something that isn’t mine.”

“Blame us if you like,” Crowley said. “I’m not giving it back.”

Max glared at him, but Crowley didn’t look bothered by it. He never did. Crowley could glare better than anyone if he wanted to, and Max supposed it made him immune to other people’s glares. 

Max glared anyway.

Aziraphale came back into the room, and Max switched his glare between them. Even angry, he couldn’t help noticing the way Crowley instantly looked towards Aziraphale, or the little nod Aziraphale gave him. He definitely couldn’t miss the way Crowley deflated a little, leaning onto the arm of his chair.

But for Max the feeling of betrayal was getting to be too much. “You have no right to take my things,” he said in a low voice. 

“Well, dear,” Aziraphale began, but Max stood up.

“I’m going to go home now. I need- I need to go home.” He stalked across the room and picked up his bag. Then he continued, out through the hallway, the front door, and down the walk.

It was the first time he could remember leaving without saying goodbye.

~

Max was still stewing the next morning. He knew that what he _should_ do was calm down, go back to the little green house, and ask to have a rational conversation. It had always worked before, on the occasional times when he had lost his temper. He (or more often Aziraphale) would suggest having a rational conversation, where they would lay out their thoughts and feelings, and by the end everything would be fine. But Crowley and Aziraphale had never acted this way before, and Max had never lost his temper this badly. He wasn’t ready to have one of their rational conversations.

So he went into the garden and kicked the football around aimlessly, barely managing to avoid snapping at his sister (who really didn’t deserve it) when she came out to ask him a question. 

“What a great start to spring break,” he muttered to no one in particular. 

Sometime in the early afternoon, the gate opened and Lucas came in. Max felt his stomach tighten. This was not going to improve his mood. 

“Hey Max!” Lucas called. He sat down on the grass next to where Max was leaning against a crate. “What’s up?”

Max shrugged. Losing something that didn’t belong to him wasn’t information he was keen to volunteer.

“Can you get the book I gave you yesterday?” Lucas continued, apparently not too worried about Max’s lack of speech. “I want to try it out. A whole group of us are going up to that abandoned barn that Rachel’s family’s got.”

“Um.” Angry as he was, Max found himself unwilling to admit that Crowley and Aziraphale had _confiscated_ Lucas’s book. They already had a strange enough reputation. “It. Well. It got...damaged. It’s not going to work anymore.”

“What?” Lucas swiveled around to stare at Max. “What do you mean, damaged?”

“It...we had a campfire last night,” Max said, picking up steam. “And it ended up a tiny bit out of control — everything was fine — but I’d been reading the book and it was too close, and-“

“You _burned_ my book?” Lucas said incredulously.

Put that way it did sound pretty bad. “It was an accident,” Max said. “I got distracted making sure the fire didn’t catch anything else.”

“Did it?”

Max shook his head.

“Well, that’s good.” Lucas sat back. “I did take some notes when I was reading before, so we might be able to try it anyway.”

Max blinked at him. “Without instructions? That feels like it’s asking for trouble.”

Lucas glared at him. “Well, if you had taken better care of the book, we wouldn’t have to do it without!”

“We don’t _have_ to do it at all,” Max pointed out.

“Are you trying to sabotage this?” Lucas asked. “Because it seems like you are. You don’t have to be a part of it. Just let us have our fun.”

Max briefly remembered the shock on Crowley’s usually casual face the day before. “I just think it’s better to be safe than sorry. Are demons really something to take chances with?”

“Demons don’t exist,” Lucas said. “It’s just a bit of a game. Do you want to join us, or not?”

Max hesitated.

“You’re lucky I’m still giving you the option of coming at all,” Lucas said finally. “Can you imagine if I go and tell everybody that we can’t do it because you burned the book?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Max yelped, miffed even for his fake story.

“I’m just saying I don’t think people would be too keen on hanging out with you after that,” Lucas finished.

That stung. Max wasn’t sure he could handle having a falling-out with all of his friends at once. “I just don’t think it’s safe,” he said weakly.

“Neither is riding in a car!” Lucas stood up and stalked toward the gate. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Max jumped up and followed him. “No, I’ll come. It does sound jolly interesting.” An olive branch, if a weak one. More like an olive twig.

Lucas paused and looked him over. “If you’re sure. Go on up to that old barn. I’ve got to go get my notes.” He resumed his exit.

Max watched him go, then went to tell his parents that he was going out with friends for a while.

~

It was, admittedly, jolly interesting. Lucas had apparently taken extensive notes, and directed Max, Rachel, and six of their classmates and friends as they drew shapes and symbols on the floor with chalk. 

“It’s like playing with sidewalk chalk as a kid, you know?” Jane said during a pause. “Only more fun, because you’ve got a goal.”

The others agreed that this was exactly what it was like. 

It was an hour or so before they finished. They spent another ten minutes inspecting the circle from every angle, trying to see if anything seemed out of place. Finally Lucas pronounced it ready.

“Okay. So.” He inspected his notes. “Now I’ll do the chant thing, and that’ll be that. Everybody ready?”

A mixture of cheers and shouts answered him. Max felt a flash of guilt at doing something that Crowley and Aziraphale had clearly told him not to, but it was far too late to back out. Besides, they never had to know. 

He did move a little farther from the circle, towards the door. Just in case. 

Lucas started reading the words off, a little haltingly, but in an appropriate tone for the situation. As he read, Max swore he felt the air thicken, like everyone in the barn was holding their breath. It was just a game, sure, but at that moment it felt a little real. After a minute Max found himself wishing that it would finish so he could exhale properly. The drawing had been the fun part. This was bordering on creepy.

Lucas was winding down. Finally he reached the last line, read it slowly, and dramatically, and fell silent.

For a second, nothing happened. Max began to breathe out.

There was a flash of very bright light, centered on the circle they had drawn. One of his compatriots shrieked. 

The light cleared, and something was _there_. It stumbled, almost like it had been dropped on the floor, and yelped as it hit the edge of the circle, which was now throwing up a shimmering wall of light. It jumped back from the edge and stood in the center, very still.

The creature looked very humanoid, and its back was to Max. It was tall, and very thin, and dressed in black. And it had very bright red hair.

Oh dear.

“Crowley?” Max squeaked, before he could think better of it. Of course it wasn’t Crowley. That was preposterous. 

But the creature in the circle somehow went even stiller. Then it turned, very slowly, very deliberately. Very _carefully_.

Max’s stomach dropped towards the core of the Earth. 

“Maximilian,” said Crowley. His voice was very calm.

Crowley hadn’t called him Maximilian in _years_. Max swallowed.

“What,” Crowley continued, still almost terrifyingly calm, “did we just talk about yesterday?”

Max pressed his lips together briefly. “Summoning demons,” he admitted.

“And what did I say about summoning demons?”

“Not to.”

“And what have you just done?”

“I don’t know,” Max said honestly, feeling a little wild-eyed. “We didn’t- I didn’t- what _happened?”_

Crowley closed his eyes. Max noticed he was holding his arms close to his body, almost like he was protecting himself from something. Which, given the circumstances, was probably fair.

Lucas seemed to shake himself out of the shocked stupor that had come over the group. He glanced at his notes again, then raised his hand dramatically. “Ah, well. Uh. I bind-“

Max’s head snapped in Lucas’s direction. He wasn’t just going to _continue,_ was he?

Crowley was apparently quicker on the uptake. “Hey, hey, there’s no need for that!” he said quickly, posture opening back up a little. “I’m not going anywhere, clearly. Definitely stuck in this circle. So what if you tell me what your goal is, here, and we can figure out what to do about it?”

Lucas stopped talking and looked confused instead.

“It was just for fun,” Jane said. “We didn’t really think it would work.”

“So I guess we don’t have a plan?” Rachel added.

Crowley nodded sagely, but Max saw tension around his eyes. “Got it, got it. Why don’t you figure that out next, before jumping into things? Yeah?”

The kids stood in silence. 

Then there was another flash of light, only this one was _outside_ the circle. Max tumbled backwards until his back was against the wall. Lucas screamed, “What is he _doing?_ ” 

And then Aziraphale was standing in the middle of the barn floor. 

“Oh my god,” Max mumbled.

The day before, he had seen a new, stern side of Aziraphale. Now he was rapidly learning that that side of Aziraphale could get much, much more intense. He seemed taller, and was almost _glowing_ as he glared around at the gathered teenagers. His eyes passed over Max, but didn’t linger. 

_“Get away from him,”_ Aziraphale said. He sounded angry, so angry that Max might not have recognized his voice if he hadn’t seen him speak. 

The stunned kids tripped backwards, away from Crowley, and away from Aziraphale, who strode toward Lucas. 

“Where is the book?” It was the flattest question Max had ever heard.

“I- I don’t have it anymore. We...lost it. Just...I have my notes,” Lucas stammered

“Give them to me.”

Lucas held out the paper in his hand, shrinking the rest of him away from Aziraphale. Then he pointed towards the edge of the circle, where the other notes still lay. “The rest are over there.”

Aziraphale strode over to the circle and snapped his fingers. The papers vanished and reappeared in his hand. Then he crouched, inspecting the drawings. Crowley lowered himself to the ground too, but he was watching Aziraphale.

None of the children dared to move.

After a minute, Aziraphale exhaled sharply and scuffed out a chalk mark with his finger, murmuring something Max couldn’t hear. A sparkle ran around the circle, and the light flickered out. Crowley wobbled a little, as if thrown off balance by something disappearing, and Aziraphale stood and extended a hand to him. Crowley took it and rose with considerably less litheness than Max was used to seeing. He let Aziraphale put an arm around him and they walked over to a wall near the door. Then Aziraphale turned to face the silent onlookers. 

“None of you,” he said, still in that cold, flat tone, “will ever so much as _think_ of attempting a demon summoning again. In fact, your memories of this event-“

Crowley elbowed him and jerked a head in Max’s direction. Max felt his shoulders come up as Aziraphale looked at him, furious and protective and almost sad. Then Aziraphale looked back at Crowley. Crowley nodded, just a tiny bit, but Max knew him well enough to see it. Only Aziraphale knew him well enough to know what it meant. 

“Your memories of this event,” Aziraphale continued, almost pointedly not looking at Max again, “will be fuzzy, and undefined. _Particularly_ the ones relating to either the specifics of the ritual or who, exactly, was here. Now go home.”

Everyone made a beeline for the door with a vaguely abnormal lack of hesitation. 

“Not you, Max.”

Max stopped. Part of him wanted to flee this whole strange experience, and the very reasonable anger that his mentors were probably going to direct at him. Part of him desperately wanted to see them, to have everything explained, and to be forgiven. And a very small part of him _couldn’t_ have left if he kept trying.

“Stop that, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked at him almost quizzically, then said “Oh,” in an enlightened tone. 

The hint of compulsion vanished.

Aziraphale offered Lucas’s notes to Crowley. “Would you like to do the honors, my dear?” His voice sounded more normal again.

Crowley’s gaze flicked to Max.

“You wanted him here,” Aziraphale said, as though he was reminding Crowley of something he had said, though Max was pretty sure Crowley hadn’t said anything of the sort. Then he said, “You don’t have to.”

Crowley held out his hand. “Give it here.”

Aziraphale gave him the papers. As soon as his hand left them, they started to smoke. A moment later they flamed like flash paper, and then all that was left was an ash or two. Crowley blew them across the room. Then he caught Max’s (stunned, scared, enraptured) look, and quirked the side of his mouth. 

“Let’s go home,” Aziraphale said. He looked Crowley over. “Can you walk?”

Max’s guilt increased a notch. He hadn’t known there even _was_ another notch.

“Not home,” Crowley said tightly.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Maximilian, you come stand here, right in front of me.”

Oh wow, he was getting his full name from both of them today. He supposed he deserved it, though his brain was still relatively convinced that none of the last half hour had happened, since it had no contextual framework upon which those events made sense. 

He did what he was told.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and Max fell over. He landed on the very familiar floor of Crowley and Aziraphale’s kitchen. 

“You have to brace for the landing,” Crowley told him dryly, from where he was now standing above Max and leaning a little more heavily into Aziraphale’s side.

Max stayed on the floor, because it felt easier than trying to do literally anything else until he had at least had a chance to breathe and feel the reassuringly solid floor for a while. 

“Sit in here for a minute, Max,” Aziraphale said. “I expect we have much to talk about, but you’ll have to give us some time first.” His voice softened a smidge, back towards his normal tone. “You can make some tea if you like.”

“You broke him,” Crowley commented when Max remained where he was. “It’ll all be okay, kid. Just wait here.”

Max nodded, and raised his head. “Okay,” he murmured. His voice was hoarse, and he realized he hadn’t spoken in quite a while.

“That’s it,” Crowley said. He sounded tired.

Then they left, heading into the living room and shutting the door behind them.

Max noticed with trepidation that Crowley was distinctly limping.

~

Max eventually hauled himself upright and leaned against one of the kitchen cupboards. He could hear Crowley and Aziraphale’s voices in the living room, though he suspected he was only able to make out the words that they wanted him to. Things like, “...deserves an explanation, angel,” and “safety in obscurity, Crowley-" and “I know you’ve had worse, dear, but-". 

After five minutes or so, Max got to his feet and filled the kettle. It was a familiar task, and felt almost grounding. He couldn’t help but think that was exactly why Aziraphale had suggested it. His friend was subtle like that.

The water was on its way to boiling when Aziraphale opened the door.

“Come in, Max,” he said.

Max went. Crowley was sitting in his usual armchair, looking almost more sprawled than usual. He jerked his head at Max’s spot on the sofa, and Max sat. It felt wonderfully soft. Aziraphale stayed standing. They both looked like they were waiting for Max to speak.

“Are you mad at me?” It was the first thing that came to mind, and somehow the most pressing, even with all of the absolutely bizarre things that had just happened. 

Crowley sighed and glanced at Aziraphale, who somehow made it very clear that he wasn’t answering the question yet. Crowley looked back to Max. “Yes,” he said, and Max found himself strangely relieved that he still rated the blunt honesty he had come to appreciate. “But it’s not the first priority. I’m guessing you have other questions?”

And, well, he was right, but Max had no idea how to phrase his other questions. So he reused one. “ _Are_ demons real?”

Crowley was still for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally. 

“You showed up in our demon summoning circle,” Max stated.

“Yes.”

“So...are _you_ a demon?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Think you’ve already figured out the answer to that one, kid.”

Max sat back, suddenly unable to keep himself upright. “Aren’t I supposed to be afraid of demons? Aren’t they evil or something?”

“Well, yeah,” Crowley admitted, “but I’m not much of a standard demon these days. Don’t go trusting the others, or I’ll disown you. Or more likely have to rescue you, and I’d rather not.”

“How do I know I can trust _you_ , then?” As soon as he said it, Max wished he hadn’t. Crowley looked as though he’d been punched, and Max instantly remembered that this was _Crowley_ , who had been one of his staunchest allies for years and years. “I didn’t mean that,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale, who Max had nearly forgotten about, hurried over to put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Max looked up at him. “Are you a demon too?”

“No,” Aziraphale said softly. “No, I’m not.”

“Nah, he’s not,” Crowley agreed, and looked up at Aziraphale with the sunny, open smile that Max had never seen him turn on anyone else. 

“But you appeared out of _thin air!_ ” Max said. “You- we _teleported!_ How?”

“You know our families didn’t get along,” Crowley said. “What’s that dichotomy they teach in the churches, demons are evil and their polar opposite is-“

Max gaped at them. “You’re an _angel?”_

Aziraphale was looking less stern than Max had seen him since he first brought that blasted book into the house. “I always was proud of your extrapolation skills, Max,” he said.

Max felt warm at the praise. “But- an angel and a demon? Just...living together in the English countryside?”

“Retired angel and demon,” Crowley corrected, which answered the question, except it didn’t.

“They tried to kill us,” Aziraphale added. “That gives us some freedom.”

That also made sense, except for the fact that it didn’t. Max was getting the impression that was going to be true of a lot of this. “So this has been true all the time?” he asked softly. “The whole time I’ve known you?”

“And for a good while before that,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Then...you’re still you.”

“Yup,” Crowley said. “Still us.”

“Shall I make some tea?” Aziraphale asked.

~

Max was curled up on the sofa with his second cup of tea before he found the courage to say, “So...are you still mad at me?”

Crowley groaned. Max had been noticing that he looked very, very tired, and figured he should leave soon. “Yes and no. We specifically, clearly, told you not to try summoning demons.”

“I know,” Max whispered guiltily.

“But we didn’t give you a reason, and you’re used to getting reasons. I wish you had handled that differently, but in the end we have to recognize it as a factor.”

Max nodded.

“I hate being summoned,” Crowley said, in a rare show of vulnerability. “It’s demeaning, and it _hurts_. So I’m mad that I had to go through that again. But I’m not particularly mad at you. Aziraphale’s more likely to be that.”

Aziraphale sighed over his tea. “Few things make me angrier than people hurting Crowley, as you might have been able to tell, this afternoon. I’ll get over it.”

“So you’re mad at me,” Max said. He wanted to know.

“I’ll get over it.” Aziraphale said again. He smiled a little sadly at Max. “It’s been a long day, Max. I know you didn’t mean harm.”

Max closed his eyes until the tears that had been cropping up went away. “I really didn’t,” he whispered.

“You’d never hurt a fly,” Crowley said. His head was flopped against the back of his chair and he sounded like his eyes were closed. “We both know that.”

“Max,” Aziraphale said seriously. “I would never have agreed to tell you what we told you today if I didn’t have immense trust in you. I want that to be very clear.”

That made Max feel warm all over. He smiled a little. “Thank you."

“It’s true,” Crowley said.

“Would you like another cup of tea before you go home?” Aziraphale asked.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any thoughts, please do comment! Each one brings me great joy, and I would love feedback on this piece of writing. Especially since this is my first Good Omens fanfic! I do have some ideas for others, perhaps involving Max again, so we shall see where that goes.


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